


Step Right Up

by htbthomas



Category: Enlisted (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Carnival, Gen, Humor, POV Alternating, Yuletide 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The annual Fort McGee Family Fun Festival has always been a victim of sabotage. But not this year, with Private First Class Randy Hill on the job!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Right Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theswearingkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas, mesonyx and innie!

Morning dawns bright and warm at Fort McGee. Soldiers are about their normal routine—Jill on her morning jog, Sergeant Major Cody on his morning coffee, and most of the 2nd Platoon on their third time hitting the snooze button. Usually, Derrick would be right there with the others in his platoon. But not today. He looks forward to this week all year long. It’s one of the only things he really enjoys at Fort McGee. 

Derrick gazes over the open green, where the framework of several booths is starting to take shape, where roads are being blocked off for the arrival of the carnival rides, where the stakes for an auction tent are being pounded into the earth. Strings of lights are already aloft, bright pennants strung across the fairway, and a grand sign, newly arrived yesterday, proclaims the _Fort McGee Family Fun Festival 2014._ This year’s theme is emblazoned on the canvas below: “Think Fun!” 

Only the lettering has recently been altered to say “Stink Ton!”

Derrick folds his arms and admires his handiwork with a smile, this time in the light of day. Every year, he’s found a way to sabotage the summer carnival… just a little. The carnivals of his youth were always filled with less fun and frolic and more spin and vomit. And of course, Pete and Randy had to drag him to every single one until he was old enough to enlist. So if he’s going to be forced to work one, he’s gotta have _some_ fun. 

He hears a gasp behind him. Turning, he sees one of the mothers from the residential side of the base staring up at the banner. She quickly covers her little boy’s eyes and then pulls him along by the hand, frowning at Derrick with distaste. Yes, this year is already shaping up to be one of the best.

Suddenly Derrick feels the presence of someone standing beside him. “Aw, man…” Randy says, voice breaking a little. “Not this guy again.”

Without turning to look at his brother, Derrick nods with pride. “Even better than last year’s ‘Bummertime Dumb,’ don’t you agree?”

Randy doesn’t notice, staring up at the defaced sign as if it were sacrilege. “Do you think they’ll catch him this year?”

The PA crackles suddenly, and Cody’s voice rings in the air. “Corporal Hill, report to the Sergeant Major’s office.”

Derrick freezes. Then he gives Randy a good clap on the shoulder. “With you on the job? Of course.” Then he shrugs and starts to walk in that direction. 

Once he is standing in front of Cody’s desk, though, Derrick is feeling less amused than confused. “You want me to… what?”

“Now that you’re the official Fort McGee photographer, I think you’d better serve taking photos than helping your platoon with their booth. If we win the interbase Family Life contest, it could raise Fort McGee’s standing among other Rear Detachment bases in the southeast.”

Derrick frowns, rubbing at the back of his head with one hand. Sure, he can take photographs. But it’s going to cut into his annual sabotage. “I guess so.”

Cody gives him that brilliant white smile. “Good. Sergeant Major Kelley at Fort Stewart won’t know what hit him.”

Derrick nods, and starts to turn away. Okay. If he works just a little smarter, he can probably fit some of the better ideas in between—

“And Corporal…” Cody interrupts. “I know you get some sort of puerile thrill out of your silly little shenanigans at carnival time—”

“My…?” Derrick turns back toward Cody slowly. “You knew it was me?”

Cody leans forward, shaking his head. “Of course I knew it was you. You think I don’t know what’s going on in my own base?”

“No... I mean, yes… I mean, why didn’t you stop it before?”

“You know I enjoy a good prank, it helps break the tension and monotony.” 

“Okay, but silly? Little?” Two years ago, he’d managed to fill every seat on the Ferris wheel with water balloons. That was neither silly nor little. “That hurts, sir.”

Cody’s eyebrows lower. “Having the Fort McGee Family Fun Festival go well this year is important to me.” They lower even further, if that’s possible, along with his voice. “You understand, Corporal.”

Derrick shifts from foot to foot before answering. “Yes, sir.” He looks out the window, where a group of soldiers is carrying a bundle of two-by-fours toward the construction area. 

“I’d like to think that you’ve evolved a bit in the last few months.” Cody’s voice brings him back, and he finds Cody piercing him with that commanding stare of his.

Derrick sighs. “Maybe.”

* * *

Randy is still staring at the sign with dismay when the PA rings out again. “Private First Class Hill, report to Sergeant Major Cody’s office.”

“First Derrick, now me?” Randy preens. He turns to salute the nearest loudspeaker. “On the double, sir!”

He almost breaks parade rest when he hears what the Sergeant Major has to say. “You want _me_ to catch the culprit?”

“Absolutely! You’ve showed real initiative in the last few months. Think of this as extended Ranger training.”

Randy's heart begins to swell, almost to bursting, and he clutches at his chest . "Wow! Thank you, sir, thank you! This is the best. The absolute best!"

Sergeant Major Cody interlocks his fingers and lowers his chin. "You haven't caught the saboteur yet. _That_ will be, as you said, the absolute best."

Randy immediately comes to attention. "Yes, Sergeant Major, sir!" He blinks back tears; he can't let himself be overcome. Good soldiers push through! "How would you like me to proceed, sir!"

"I've just assigned Derrick to photography duty. He'll be everywhere I can't be. But he’s not tough like you and me. You're assigned to protect him."

"Protect him at all costs?" Randy's voice starts to rise in pitch and volume, his excitement breaking through. "Like the Secret Service!"

"Exactly. Except, and this is very important, Private Hill..."

"What, sir? Anything, sir!" Randy tries to focus on a spot on the wall behind Cody's head. He knows if he looks the Sergeant Major in the eyes he'll lose it.

"He can never know you're there."

Randy blinks twice before shouting, "I will be like a shadow, no, like the wind!"

There's a long silence, and Randy risks a glance at Cody's face to see what's wrong. Cody's eyes are pressed shut in pain. He slowly opens them and breathes out a sigh of relief. "Just... be more like a gentle breeze than a hurricane, all right?"

"Yes, sir," Randy mouths. Then he clicks his heels and turns in a brisk about-face. He has to march out of that office before he loses it completely.

* * *

With an apathetic shrug, Derrick lifts his camera. There's Jill's platoon, working in sync to raise the frame for the drinks booth. _Click_. They're not even talking to each other. Do they communicate through movement like worker bees, with Jill as their queen? Or is it by scent? He chuckles and turns toward where the auction tent is going up, the tarp billowing slightly in the wind. _Click._ He checks the image. A little hipster, a little abstract, but maybe Cody'll want to use it for a background or something. Derrick turns again to see Chubowski and Ruiz arguing in an empty patch of grass, arms gesticulating wildly. He starts to click, but then lowers his camera. Cody wants photos that will impress his colleagues. Not more proof that the soldiers under his command are the most completely D-List of the entire Rear D. 

Derrick sighs. He'll have to find a different camera angle to avoid getting those two in the picture. 

As he walks through the grounds, he sees a thousand different little things he could be doing that would be more fun. Like directing that delivery man with the barbecue sauce toward the sno-cone booth, or changing the music in the carousel to Tuvan throat singing, or putting sand on the tracks of the duck hunting game to slow it down and make it super easy for the kids. Or maybe filling the balloons with chicken broth instead of water for the platoon vs. platoon war. But only _select_ ones. He really does like to mess with the balloons. It's a wonder they haven't banned them from the carnival yet.

At the next turn, the wind carries the sound of Chubowski and Ruiz's arguing in his direction. But now there are other voices chiming in. Park and Dobkiss are getting in on it, too. Gumble is bobbing his head back and forth as if he’s watching a tennis match.

Chubowski lifts his hands in a gesture of pleading. “Yeah, but funnel cakes, man. There’s always a line around the back at my church carnival back home. We’ll be raking in the money hand over fist.”

“Burned fist, more like it,” Dobkiss says. He rubs at a spot on his forearm almost fondly. “I mean, if you’re one of those people who doesn’t actually like that.” 

“It’s true,” Park agrees.

Well, crap, now Derrick has to go find out what's going on. "What are you guys arguing about?" he asks when he’s close enough. There's no need for Derrick to add, “this time.”

“We’re trying to decide what to do for our booth,” Park explains.

Derrick frowns. “Didn’t they assign you one?”

“Nope!” Dobkiss says, with almost an air of pride. “Sergeant Major Cody said we could pick our own this year. Just nothing on the list.”

“What list?”

“This one. I think I have it… right here…” Chubowski starts digging for it

“What about the Fish Bowl Toss from last year?”

Ruiz says, “People complained that the fish were already dead.”

“Kettle corn?”

Dobkiss makes a face. “Said it tasted off.”

“Bingo?” 

Gumble shrugs. “The same numbers kept coming up.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, I think our booth is _cursed_.” Park’s eyes go big at this pronouncement. The others murmur in agreement.

“Here it is,” Chubowski says, brandishing the list in the air. He hands it to Derrick.

Derrick only has to scan the list once to see what the problem is. Every one of these is a booth that he has personally sabotaged over the years. Some of these he didn’t even think anyone noticed! He has mixed feelings about that.

“So funnel cakes, then?”

Chubowski gestures around at the others. "See, even Derrick agrees."

The rest nod, with varying degrees of disappointment. Dobkiss looks especially down, mumbling something like, “They’ll never know the sweet taste."

Oh, okay, Derrick isn't going to touch that. "Well, good luck, guys." He could probably think of a dozen ways to sabotage the booth, but he promised Cody he'd be good this year and just take pictures. An idea bubbles to the surface of his mind unbidden, and he finds himself saying, "You know there might be a way around that curse of ours..." Then he shakes his head. "Nah, forget it."

He doesn't make it more than two steps before Park is dragging him back by his camera strap. "Tell us, tell us!"

"Eh, it's not much, I was just thinking..." He purses his lips thoughtfully for effect. "What if you each did your own booth? Lower the chances?"

Park's eyes light up and then she starts to clap. "Then I could do my bounce house. No, a bouncy castle!"

"Dobkissing booth, yesssss." Dobkiss rubs his hands together.

"Oh, yeah, _Fried 'n' Seek_ will be a reality!" Ruiz pulls out his cell phone, starts Googling vegetable oil prices—or something.

Derrick smiles. It’s not the whole platoon—Pete must be off competing with Jill somewhere, Randy is probably on some errand of the Sergeant Major’s just like Derrick is, and who knows what Robinson is up to—but even this small group’s efforts promise to be complete chaos, and he doesn't even have to lift an actual finger. For good measure, he takes a photo of the platoon busily making plans. Separate plans.

As he starts walking toward another section of the slowly growing fairground, he catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head, but all he sees is a corner of a tarp flapping in the wind. He shrugs and moves on.

* * *

Randy ducks behind the walking-tacos booth just in time. That was close. He doesn't want to distract Derrick from his important work of ferreting out the saboteur. Or making this year's carnival the best ever. He's still reeling at the brilliance of Derrick's idea to create multiple booths for the platoon. The saboteur can't possibly be everywhere at once! 

He also can't get over how brilliant Cody's plan is—Derrick gets photographic evidence of any wrongdoing, and Randy can be his second, secretive pair of eyes.

"Whatcha doing?"

Randy lets out a yelp, and then claps a hand over his mouth. It's Gumble, squatting next to him with a curious expression. Randy gives him a dirty look and then peers around the corner to see if Derrick noticed. Whew, looks like he's still ambling along, taking pictures of people along the fairway. Finally answering Gumble, he says, "A very important job, go work on your booth!"

"Oh, I don't have my own booth," Gumble says. 

Randy's annoyance immediately turns to concern. "What? Why?"

"I don't know, I thought I'd help out someone else. How about you? Any chance I can help with your 'important job'?"

"Well, it's kind of a secret mission," Randy says, half-begrudgingly, half-proud. "Cody wants it kept hush-hush." 

"Catching the saboteur?"

Randy's mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Then he pokes a finger into Gumble's chest. "Where did you hear that, soldier?"

"Nowhere. Just figured it out. A lot people dismiss me, but I can be quite observ—"

Randy places the finger on top of Gumble's lips. "Now, not another word. You know what they say, 'Loose lips make pink whips.'"

“I don’t think that’s what they—”

“Shh!” 

Randy scrambles around a corner to keep Derrick in his sights, Gumble already forgotten.

* * *

A good clip away from the rest of 2nd platoon, almost on the other side of the carnival grounds, Derrick finds Robinson. She’s already got a sturdy frame for a booth up and is tying off a length of bright-colored tarp to one of the posts. As he approaches, she suddenly stops, and wraps her arms around herself, shivering dramatically. She turns around to look at him and frowns. “Ooh, I just had such a feeling come over me, like something bad was coming… but it’s just you.”

Derrick smirks. “Thanks a lot.” He lifts his camera. “Smile?”

She not only smiles, but gives him a confident pose. “You taking photos for the newsletter again?” she asks after, immediately going back to work.

“Yeah. Cody wants something to impress the other Rear D commanders, I guess.”

Without looking up, Robinson says, “So are you taking a break from the sabotage this year?”

Derrick stifles a gasp. “You knew, too?”

Robinson scoffs. “You think I don’t know everything going on around here? I may be a private in the army, but I’m like a general when it comes to gossip. I command a _legion_ of spies.”

“What?” 

Robinson laughs and smacks him on the shoulder. “Ha, I’m just messing with you. But I tell you, there’s something weird in the air.” She rubs her arms and shivers, even though it’s eighty degrees. “I thought it could be that.”

“Okay…” Derrick lets out a sigh of relief. “Hey, keep this between us, okay? I promised Cody I’d go straight this year.” Suddenly, he’s the one feeling a cold shiver. Derrick peers around, catching that movement in his peripheral vision again. Is there someone around that corner watching him? Someone in their platoon informing on him?

“I can keep a secret.” Robinson looks him up and down, tapping her chin with one finger. “You’re jumpy, boy. Something you wanna tell Tanisha?”

Derrick shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t completely trust that she _doesn’t_ have a legion of spies. He gestures around the nearly completed booth. “What are you planning here, by the way?”

“Uh-uh.” She turns ultra-serious in a heartbeat, taking a step away from him and warding him off with a hammer. “You think I’m gonna tell you now? I’m not buying the I’ve-gone-straight routine, no, sir.”

Derrick holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ll just take my pictures after the festival gets started.”

“You do that.” She doesn’t put down the hammer until he’s more than safely out of range.

* * *

Robinson’s booth is too out in the open to get very close, so Randy has to settle for going all the way around the edge of the balloon darts. He can just barely see Derrick and Robinson talking to each other; he can’t hear a word of what’s being said. But that’s okay. He’s probably encouraging her to greatness the way that he did the rest of the platoon. And there’s been no sign of the saboteur. Cody’s plan is running smoothly.

“Anything to report, Private Hill?”

Cody’s low voice at his shoulder makes him jump a foot in the air. Whoa, he’d never heard or seen Cody coming. He spins and salutes after a rough landing. “All going to plan, sir!” he whispers back.

“Any evidence of sabotage?”

“None, sir! This may be the best festival yet, sir!”

Cody peers around the corner of the balloon-darts booth, and Randy takes position below him. They see Derrick and Robinson talking and laughing, then slide back out of sight.

“And you’ve been keeping your eyes on Corporal Hill at all times?”

“Yes, sir. Except now, sir.”

Cody slaps him on the arm. “Keep up the good work, soldier.”

Randy turns to salute… and Cody is already gone.

“Whoa.” Time to get his eyes back on his target. Derrick is walking away from Robinson’s booth, continuing his circuit of the grounds. As if by magic, Gumble has appeared at Robinson’s booth, whispering in her ear. Gumble straightens up when Randy notices him and directs a knowing look in his direction. Randy pops out of sight immediately. “Weird.”

* * *

Derrick runs across Pete exactly where he expected to find him—with Jill. "...interesting choices," he's saying.

"And your platoon's booth is how far along?" Jill stands with her arms folded, supervising her soldiers with one eye while giving Pete a look of disdain. It's pretty impressive. 

"Oh, don't you worry, ours will be built and ready to go before you even finish the last coat of lacquer on your posts." Pete says the word 'lacquer' like a curse.

Derrick steps into sight, lifting his camera to snap a picture of the two. "Don't you mean 'booths'?"

"Booths?" 

He snaps the photo just then, catching Jill looking smug and Pete looking flummoxed. He might frame that one special.

"Yeah, the platoon has not one, not two, but probably four or five ideas for booths." He takes a step closer. "And they're planning to do them all."

"All? What?" Pete barks, then takes off jogging. 

Jill smiles. "Thanks, Derrick. You didn't have to do that. I was handling him fine."

"You're welcome, but every word of that was true."

"Really?" Jill snorts. "Oh, man, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when he chews them out."

"Yeah." Derrick chuckles. "Or..." he says, as if a problem’s just occurred to him.

Jill's laughter dies in an instant. "Or what?"

"Or he could go along with it. Then you're going to be competing against multiple booths, instead of just one like usual."

"I—" Her face turns stone-hard and she pivots on one heel. "Troops! To me, on the double!"

Derrick gets a great shot of the veins popping out on Jill's forehead before he drifts away again.

* * *

Randy shakes his head. He's gotta hand it to Derrick—that was perfectly played. Now Jill's platoon will come up with multiple booths, and this Fun Fest will be the best Fort McGee has ever had! He can't wait to taste all the new foods and play all the games...

But wait. He can't get caught up in the excitement just yet. He has to help Derrick catch the saboteur. From his hiding spot, he allows himself another glance at Jill, who is ordering her platoon to break up into smaller groups to get the job done. She commands so much authority and respect that it's awesome to watch. Sometimes he thinks he would give up everything, even the amazingness of serving with his own flesh and blood, to be under her...

Command. Randy blushes. Under her command.

He closes his eyes and takes a moment to get himself back under control. He can't be entertaining fantasies of Jill right now, not when so much is at stake.

Letting out a heavy breath, he opens his eyes again. And realizes Derrick is nowhere to be found. He bolts out of his hiding spot... and right over Derrick's outstretched foot.

The next thing he knows, he’s on his back in the dirt, Derrick looming over him, tutting softly. "What have you been doing, Randy?"

"Uh, you know, um..."

He leans down, blocking out the sun above. "Have you been following me?"

Randy winces. So much for that Ranger training. "I..." He looks around desperately for some excuse, And there she is, in her camouflage-clad glory. “...was watching Jill.” He doesn’t have to work hard to seem embarrassed.

“J…” Derrick glances back and forth between Randy and where Jill is working with her platoon a couple of times. “Jill. Sergeant Jill Perez.”

Randy takes his time coming to a standing position. “Yes.”

“Really?” A slow smile begins to cross his face. “How long has this been going on?”

“A couple of weeks, maybe a month?” He turns his back to Jill so that she won’t notice. “Ever since I helped her with the General Inspection.”

Derrick’s smile fades into shock. “You’ve been crushing on… Jill… for that long and I never even noticed? Man, I am losing my touch.”

“Well, you have been dealing with a lot. Erin, Erin and her son, Erin and her ex, Erin leaving…”

A flash of pain crosses Derrick’s eyes. “Yeah. But still, I can’t believe I missed that.” He turns his head to look at Jill, and Randy forces himself not to follow Derrick’s gaze. “I always thought it was going to be _Pete_ and Jill.”

Randy stiffens. “We already got into it over Jill during Ranger training. He said he’d back off.”

“Pete knows?” Derrick huffs. “I have been _really_ out of touch.” He claps a hand on Randy’s shoulder. “So what are you gonna do about it? Other than stalking her?”

“Stalk—I’m not—That’s—” Randy gives up. Even if he wasn’t stalking Jill, he doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know. Nothing for now, probably. She’s a staff sergeant, and I’m just a private first class.”

“Not forever, though. Hooah.” Derrick’s encouraging smile does a lot to lift Randy’s spirits. He likes this newer version of Derrick. 

“Hooah.”

“You just need to get your mind off Jill. Walk with me for a while.” 

Awesome—he can follow Cody’s orders and get some bro time all at once. Randy nods, but he can’t help a fist pump of triumph behind Derrick’s back.

Neither one of them sees Gumble peel off from the archery tent and follow at a safe distance.

* * *

Derrick can’t sleep. It’s stupid; this is stupid. So he can’t directly sabotage anything this year, so what? He sowed the seeds of dissension among the platoon, messed with Pete’s and Jill’s heads… he should be happy with that. He’ll get the photos for Cody, who won’t have any idea what else he’s been up to.

But Robinson. What is her booth going to be? Something great or something boring? And will it _really_ hurt anyone if he adds just a touch of mischief to it? With a sigh, he climbs out of bed, pulls on his boots over his pajama bottoms. Randy’s snoring away on the bunk above; there’s no way anyone will notice that he’s gone.

He quietly steps to the door, but there’s a clanking as he trips over a can. He freezes. Randy snorts and shifts to his other side, but doesn’t wake. Looking down, Derrick carefully moves the can out of the way—he doesn’t remember that being there before, but putting it in the trashcan will make more noise. Then he slips out of the door, closing it behind him.

Even if there’s nothing to see, he’ll feel better if he at least takes a look.

* * *

Randy’s eyes pop open the second Derrick is in the hallway. His soda can alarm worked, and Derrick has no idea that Randy is actually awake. He too pulls off the covers, where he’s fully dressed, boots and all.

If only Randy could tell Derrick that he’s on his side! The two of them together working to catch the saboteur—that would be epic. Cody will be so proud. And better yet, so will Pete.

Staying far enough back that Derrick doesn’t notice, he creeps along in Derrick’s wake. Derrick keeps to the shadows as much as possible, so it’s even easier for Randy to avoid being seen himself.

It's hard for Randy to figure out where Derrick is going, especially keeping to the shadows like this. He's taking a zigzagging course, easily avoiding the soldiers on guard duty. Randy's always thought Derrick was barely interested in soldiering, but what he sees in front of him takes talent. Derrick keeps disappearing from sight and Randy has to hurry to catch up, just to see him disappear again. It doesn’t help that the wind is kicking up, buffeting his ears and covering any sound that might help him track Derrick. 

At the next turn, Randy stops dead. Derrick is nowhere to be seen. And he could have gone in any direction—forward, right, left or even doubled back toward the barracks. Randy’s shoulders slump in defeat. Some Ranger-trainee he is. Derrick should be the one in training, not hi—

“Ha! You _are_ following me!” 

Randy jumps back, yelping like a kicked puppy.

Derrick stands before him, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t deny it this time, Randy.”

Randy opens his mouth to protest.

“Just… don’t.” Derrick pulls Randy out of the open, behind an outbuilding. “Why?” 

From the expression on his face, Derrick knows the answer. But he can’t say, or at least Cody he couldn’t. So he says, hoping it will satisfy both Derrick’s demand and Cody’s orders, “To help.”

“To…” Derrick’s face goes from suspicious to perplexed. “...help?”

“To um…” How can he put this? “...protect you on your… mission?”

Derrick gets very quiet. Oh crap, he shouldn’t have used the word ‘mission,’ it’s too on-the-nose; Cody is going to bust him back down to plain old private again…

“Huh,” Derrick finally says. “Okay.” He taps his lips thoughtfully with his thumb. “Why do I need protection?”

Randy sighs. There’s no use now, he’s just going to have to hope that Cody will understand later. “Because it’s secret. If the wrong…”—Randy lowers his voice—“...person… found out, you could be in danger.”

“Huh,” Derrick says again. “You hate all the carnival sabotage.”

Randy frowns. Of course he hates it! It’s nearly ruined the last three carnivals! “All I want is for all of us to have a good time like the old days.”

Derrick searches Randy’s face for a long moment, so long that a trickle of sweat starts to run down Randy’s left temple. Abort, abort, ab—!

“Okay, then. Follow. But stay out of sight, you hear me? One wrong move and it’ll all be over.”

Randy’s face lights up. “You’ll never see me.”

Derrick raises an eyebrow.

“This time.”

* * *

Now that he’s almost to Robinson’s booth, Derrick slows to a careful crawl. Randy’s behind him somewhere, thankfully quieter than when he was following before. What’s in this for Randy? Just to protect his brother from the shame of being outed as the saboteur? It’s not like _Derrick_ really cares about that. After Cody and Robinson, what’s a few hundred more people? He might even do it just to make Pete squirm.

But it would sure be fun to last at least one more year. He could go out with a bang. Ha, a bang. Dobkiss could probably hook him up with the good fireworks…

And there it is, Robinson’s super-secret project. He creeps up on it, trying not to disturb even the grass beneath his feet. He can’t hear Randy behind him—good. The overhead lamps cast a washed-out pall over the whole area, and there’s no way to hide. If one of the soldiers on night watch sees him and raises a cry, he’ll have to make a run for it. And everyone knows he’s the slowest runner in the platoon. But with Randy here... maybe he’ll tackle the guard to help Derrick get away. 

The thought makes him smile. He may not understand why Randy is helping him, but he’s sure as hell going to take advantage of it.

He reaches the side of the booth without anyone noticing. Then slowly, carefully, he rises from a squat to peer over the side of the counter.

“Halt!”

Derrick freezes. But the voice isn’t behind him. It’s in front of him. He looks down to see Gumble, all decked out in black, pointing a rifle directly into his face. There’s a little pup tent in the corner of the booth where he’s clearly been sleeping.

Derrick relaxes. “Gumble, what are you doing?”

“Protecting this booth from you!” He doesn’t lower the rifle.

Derrick just pretends like it’s not there. Gumble’s a better shot than Randy, but not by much. “Robinson put you up to this?”

“I sure did.” Robinson starts to pull herself out of the pup tent. “I _told_ you I didn’t trust that whole ‘going straight’ routine.” She stands up fully, and Gumble takes a step just in front of her for protection.

Derrick looks between the two, trying to wrap his mind around it. Sure, he saw them making out on the dance floor like the rest of the base, but are they actually together now? Like, together-together?

Gumble’s eyes narrow to slits. “Step back, Saboteur.”

Derrick’s mouth opens to protest this ridiculous overreaction, but suddenly Randy is rearing up beside him. “ _What_?! Derrick’s not the saboteur, he’s trying to _catch_ the saboteur! _You’re_ the saboteur, you lying, sneaking spy!”

Derrick owns up at the same time the other two are schooling Randy. “Yeah, I totally am,” he says, hearing Robinson and Gumble saying, “No, no, Derrick’s the saboteur,” and “He admitted it.” 

The look of horror and shame that Randy sends him is the kind that gives mothers and schoolteachers their dark powers. “Derrick!”

“Hey, buddy, I thought you knew!” He tries to pat Randy on the arm, but Randy shrugs the hand off. “Didn’t Cody call you into his office a few minutes after he talked to me?”

“He ordered me to help you catch the saboteur, not help you _be_ the saboteur!” Derrick can see the whites of Randy’s eyes around the irises, they’re open so wide in distress. “I just—” He puts his hands on either side of his head and scrunches his face up in pain. Then he flees into the night.

For a few moments, no one speaks. Gumble breaks the silence first. “So…”

“Um.” Robinson scratches behind her ear.

“Yeah.”

Then there’s a yell of anguish in the distance. The sound cuts into his heart; he can never ignore Randy’s pain any more than Randy can ignore his. It sucks being the cause of it. It happens too often.

“So, yeah, I wasn’t going to sabotage anything, I just wanted to know what the secret was, but I gotta go now, seriously, you don’t need to point a rifle at me, sheesh—”

Robinson waves him off. “Go, go. But you’re crazy if you think I’m buying any of that.”

* * *

Randy just runs, not paying attention to where he’s going. All the bad feelings are just bubbling up inside and it makes him feel as if he’s learned nothing in the last year, nothing at all. He never even suspected Derrick, even though _everyone_ else knew, even Sergeant Major Cody. Was he just getting Randy out of the way so that the real soldiers could do the real work?

He ends up falling to his knees with a cry of pain beside the poles holding the welcome banner aloft. He looks up at it, whipping in the ever-stronger wind, the sound like so much laughter. It’s even been painted over to fix where Derrick had defaced it. He curls up, hugging his knees, his thoughts swirling ever deeper into despair.

A few minutes later he hears the sound of boots approaching. They stop, shuffle for a moment. “Um, nice job with the sign…?” It’s Derrick, sounding sorry.

So he’s sorry, what difference does it make? Randy doesn’t lift his head. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything. I thought Cody was giving me this important job, and he was just keeping me busy. He knew about you, and he didn’t trust me.”

“No.”

Randy looks up, wiping at the traitorous tears that have leaked out. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“He didn’t trust _me_.” Derrick squats in front of Randy. “He’s been keeping _me_ busy. _You_ were keeping me honest.”

That doesn’t seem right. Randy wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve. “How?”

“Do you think I had time to dull the point of even a single balloon dart this year? Not with you on my tail, I didn’t.”

Randy thinks for a minute. He tailed Derrick around all day, watching him talk to people, take pictures of things, be helpful… “You’re right. I…” Suddenly his despair is gone. “I did help!”

Derrick gives him a crooked smile. “Yeah, you did.” He fist-bumps the top of one of Randy’s knees. “You and Cody make a good team.” He stands up and holds out his hand to Randy to pull him up. “I might even get some decent photos out of—”

Suddenly, the phone in Randy’s pocket buzzes at the same time as Derrick’s chimes. They both check their screens. _Severe Weather Alert_. The banner above takes that moment to break away, the ropes snapping with a whip crack that makes them both duck and cover.

Randy lifts his head to watch it sail away like a kite. “Whoa.”

Then suddenly the sirens go off all around them and lights click on with a sharp buzz. “Attention all troops,” Cody’s voice rings out over the loudspeakers. “This is a call to action. Bring your strongest rope, your thickest tarp, your sturdiest wood, your muscles, and your ingenuity! Protect the Family Fun Festival!”

The sounds of movement start up all around them and Randy jumps to his feet. He doesn’t know where to start first.

Derrick checks his screen again. “Oh, wow, that’s a big storm. Where did that come from?” 

Ruiz and Dobkiss jog by. “Did you plan this, Derrick?” Ruiz teases as he passes.

Derrick laughs. “I’m good, but I’m not that good,” he calls after them.

“Seriously?” Randy lifts his hands to the threatening sky. “ _Everyone_ knew except me!”

Thunder peals across the sky, as if in answer. Then the clouds open up, pelting both of them with heavy, soaking raindrops. Covering his eyes, Derrick yells, “Randy! I’ll take Chubowski’s booth, you check on Park’s!”

“Got it!” He starts to jog toward the carnival grounds, but then stops dead, spinning and stopping Derrick in his tracks. “No, wait. I can check on both of them, bro. Go—” Another burst of thunder drowns out his words, so he gets up close. “Go get your camera!”

Derrick cocks his head to the side for a minute and then straightens up. With a salute, he says, “Roger that,” and pelts toward the barracks.

* * *

The rest of the night goes by in a blur—soldiers shouting, working together, rain drenching everything and everyone and turning the ground to soup. Derrick pitches in when he can, but he’s mostly there to capture the moment. No one yells at him for it—they’re glad to see him recording this crisis—and their determination in its wake—for posterity.

And though he would never have asked for it to come in this form, he got his sabotage anyway, courtesy of Mother Nature. This really was the best year yet.

In the morning, when the clouds part and the worst of it has passed, he drags himself back to the barracks to wash off the mud and fall into bed. When he wakes, it’s nearly noon and Randy is snoring away above him. Derrick sits up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. His stomach growls for the breakfast he missed, but his camera rests on the desk, so he ignores hunger for curiosity. 

The night may have been a blur, but the shots on his camera are clear and sharp. He flips through them and finds a few that make him smile:

Park and Chubowski desperately pushing the air out of the bouncy castle, Park almost swallowed up in the billowing folds of plastic.

Robinson bellowing orders to most of the platoon, including Pete, to collect the hundreds of cards blown in every direction. Apparently her super-secret booth was for selling instant-win scratchers. “Soldiers _love_ to gamble!” she’d shouted defensively, over the howling wind. “It’s easy money!” And, “Don’t let my money blow away!” 

Cody right in the trenches with the others, sleeves rolled up, but flashing a winning smile at the lens.

And Randy struggling to anchor the drinks booth with a heavy rope, his uniform plastered to his body, grim determination on his face. But the best part of the photo Derrick doesn’t notice at first. It’s only in a second look that he sees Jill off to the side, tying her own length of rope, gazing over at Randy with approval and interest.

Derrick sits down at the desk and loads the photos onto his laptop, making a few judicious edits here, a crop there. Then he prints a few before sending the batch off to Cody and heading to lunch.

* * *

When Randy wakes up around mid-afternoon, he finds a photo printed out and resting beside his pillow. When his eyes adjust to the light streaming through the blinds, he blinks at it a couple of times. Then a smile grows, brighter than the welcome sun on his face. He whispers to himself, “Hooah.”


End file.
